Trembling Hands Play My Heart Like A Drum
by rayychel infinity
Summary: "What on—oh. Kurt." Kurt tilts his head back, looking at Blaine upside-down. His cheeks are flushed a rose pink, his chest bare and heaving. He's reflected in the mirror positioned in front of Blaine's bed and he's naked. Completely naked.


**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met...)" by Panic! At The Disco.  
>Warnings are: poooooooorn. With a little backstory, I guess? And the boys still being at Dalton because it makes much more sense for the setup of this fic. Features cockslapping, facefucking, fingering, masturbating, mirrors, and slutty!Blaine (because who doesn't love slutty Blaine?). Just .. what did I do. Also, this is not the surprise fic I promised. That I'm still working on.<p>

Reviewers: SOON. That is all I have to say.  
>(oh, and that I love you)<p>

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

**xxxxXxxxx**

On a Friday night after a stressful day of classes, a late-running Warblers rehearsal, and a quick run to the laundry room to drop off some slacks that needed to be cleaned and pressed, the only thing Blaine wants to do is undo his damn tie, slip into the fleece-lined sweatpants his aunt had gotten him for Christmas last year, and watch mindless, vapid television instead of starting on his History essay that's due by Monday.

He turns down the hall that his dorm is on, already picturing his bed and wondering if any reruns of _The Real Housewives of New Jersey_ would be on any of the channels he gets on the admittedly-nice TV his parents had gotten him as a going-away present. His muted footfalls echo off the oak-paneled hallways, carpet springy and soft underfoot. There surprisingly isn't a lot of noise to be heard, just the occasional muffled burst of laughter or faint talking. Dalton quiets down quicker than Blaine would've thought, given how active many of the boys are.

Maybe he could call up Kurt. It's only eight: curfew isn't until ten and room checks technically don't start until close to midnight. He approaches his dorm door and fishes his key and his phone from his pocket, thumbing the screen to unlock his phone as he inserts the key into the lock and turns it. He'll call Kurt, invite him over, and they'll snuggle in his cashmere blanket and maybe make out before Kurt has to head back to his own dorm for room checks.

The lights are on, which is strange in itself since Blaine hasn't been to his room since he left this morning for class, and his old roommate had moved to California with his parents a few weeks ago. He feels panic start to edge its way into his body even though it's almost impossible that it's an unfriendly intruder. He grips his phone tightly, ready to dial 911 if necessary. For all he knows it's Nick or Jeff waiting to ambush him, or maybe one of the younger students he tutors needing a little extra help with his AP Calculus assignment.

Blaine expects any of these. He opens the door further and now, calling the police is the absolute _last_ thing on his mind because _this_, this he didn't expect in the least.

"What on—oh. _Kurt_." Blaine stops dead in his tracks, hand still on the cold, stainless-steel knob of his dorm room door and phone still clutched uselessly in his other hand. So much for texting Kurt to come over.

Kurt tilts his head to the side and back, looking at Blaine upside-down. His cheeks are flushed a rose pink, his chest bare and heaving. He's reflected in the mirror positioned in the corner adjacent to Blaine's bed and he's _naked_. He's naked with three fingers buried deep, legs raised and bent and spread so wide Blaine's own thighs ache. Kurt's cock is flushed a deep pink and it's hard and leaking against the pale skin of his stomach, making Blaine just wants to _touch_ and _taste_.

Dalton dorms are surprisingly fairly tiny. Blaine's bed is off toward the far right wall, near the window. The door opens up closer to the now-empty other twin bed in the room. Kurt's angled diagonally on Blaine's rumpled bed.

"Jesus _Christ_, Kurt," Blaine says, his eyes wide, cock hardening almost painfully fast inside his uniform slacks.

"Hey, Blaine," Kurt says breathlessly. He grins and twists his fingers, gasping and pushing down as he directs his attention back towards the mirror, craning his neck up slightly in order to have a better view.

"Are you serious?" Blaine groans, dropping a hand down to press against his cock, which is taking interest faster than Blaine's ever taken interest in anything before. "You're fingering yourself in front of a mirror—_my_ mirror that I tie my tie in every morning—and you're saying 'hey'?"

Kurt does the best approximation of a shrug while still lying down and looks more than a little pleased with himself, though, Blaine reasons, that could be the whole fingering issue coming to play there. He unbuttons his shirt as quickly as he can, jerking it out of the waistband of his slacks and almost tearing it off of his body in his haste. He forgets about his tie and nearly chokes himself when the collar of his shirt stays where it is; from the bed Kurt laughs and Blaine has to resist the urge to stick out his tongue as he unknots his tie and flings it to the floor.

"Do you know how ridiculous you are?" he asks once his shirt's finally on the floor next to his tie.

Kurt twists his fingers again; his back bows as he moans loud, louder than he usually does, and damn him, he's doing this because he knows how much Blaine loves it when he's responsive. "I think I have an idea."

Blaine doesn't reply—he's too busy shamelessly shoving his hand down his pants while keeping his eyes glued to Kurt as he_ purposefully_ writhes on the bed. Already Blaine's dick is fully hard and leaking inside his briefs, arousal making his mind fuzzy and clouded and twitchy.

"I know you're touching yourself," Kurt singsongs like he can't see Blaine's reflected form in the mirror. "And I know you're thinking about fucking me."

"More like you fucking me," Blaine grunts, unzipping his slacks and tugging them down, briefs following suit. He can see himself standing behind Kurt and it should be weird, but right now it only serves to excite him further: images of Kurt fucking him in front of that mirror, Kurt blowing him and fingering him, jerking him off, rimming him, all while he watches himself fall apart flit through his mind. He'll never be able to tie his tie there ever again.

"What, me blatantly displaying myself didn't do it for you?"

"This isn't the Animal Planet," Blaine responds.

"Maybe it is," Kurt replies with a grin that can only be described as wicked. "Maybe I'm just innocently waiting here, presenting myself like a good little potential mate, hoping you'll take notice and mount me."

"Are you _serious_?" Blaine reiterates, closing his eyes and tipping his head back with a groan because isn't _that_ a nice image, Kurt on all fours and Blaine shoving into him rough and fast, _claiming_ him.

"As a heart attack," Kurt says, crooking his fingers and running his free hand down his torso. Blaine follows its movements, watches as Kurt's long fingers spread and splay over his skin, catch on a nipple; Kurt's breath hitches and his eyes slide to half-mast, head tilted up and neck fully on display. Blaine wants to bite, mark, and maybe this is the damn Animal Planet.

Blaine thumbs the head of his cock, dipping slightly into the slit to smear the collected pre-come. He says, "You do realize that that's not what that mirror is for, right?"

"Don't try to deflect, Blaine," Kurt says as he wraps a hand around his own cock, pumping in time with his fingers. Blaine wonders exactly how Kurt hasn't come yet—he's only been here for a few minutes and already he's choking back desperate, high-pitched sounds and squeezing the base of his cock almost painfully. He has no idea how long Kurt's been here, but it can't be much longer than him. "I know you want to say it."

"Don't use my mirror for your weird masturbatory purposes?" Though he so, _so_ wants Kurt to always use his mirror like this.

Kurt barks out a strained laugh, hand falling from his cock to clench in the bedsheets. "Nice try," he says, "but I know you too well."

"Ugh," Blaine says, kicking his shoes off, slacks and briefs and socks following. "Fine. I'm sad that it's not me that your fingers are in." His voice easily slips deeper, rougher with just a little bit of whine. He runs a palm along the length of his cock, palms the head and whines in the back of his throat. "I wish that I was on that bed and your cock was in my mouth."

Kurt whimpers and thrusts his fingers faster; Blaine smirks and crawls on the bed over to him. "How did you even get in?" he asks, settling at Kurt's side. He glides his fingers along Kurt's shoulder, down his arm and against the grain of the fine hairs. Kurt shivers a little and squirms.

"I'm pretty handy with a bobby pin," Kurt replies, words trailing off to a choked gasp as Blaine rubs his thumb in circles around the head of Kurt's cock.

Blaine leans down and over, pressing his mouth firmly to Kurt's. Immediately Kurt deepens the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Blaine's tongue in. The angle is a little awkward and Blaine has to stretch his neck slightly, but with one hand on Kurt's body, fingers caressing along his clavicle and the hollow of his throat, the soft skin behind his hears and the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, he can feel how rough and hard Kurt's fingering himself: he's shaking, the bed creaking slightly, and Blaine wonders just how sore he is. From the mirror he can tell that Kurt's hole is red and swollen, looking the way it usually does when Blaine's done fucking him.

"You got a little rough, didn't you, baby?" he asks softly, pulling back to look at Kurt. Kurt's eyes are glassy and his mouth is red; he doesn't answer except for a groan that Blaine takes as a yes. He presses his lips to Kurt's again, a little harder this time as he rocks against Kurt's side, head of his cock sliding just under where Kurt's back arches up off the bed. Kurt's legs are still spread wide, still bent at the knee and raised.

Blaine runs his hand down the length of Kurt's body, trailing his fingers lightly over Kurt's balls, down until he meets the stretched skin of Kurt's hole. Kurt makes a high-pitched noise into Blaine's mouth as Blaine slips the tip of his index finger in alongside the three of Kurt's, feeling him open and slick and _hot_, worked and ready and Blaine is so, so tempted to fuck him, flip him over and _watch_, but he doesn't. He has other plans.

"I wanna blow you," he whispers against Kurt's lips. "I want you on my chest."

Kurt nods and slips his fingers out; Blaine can't help but run the pad of his thumb along the stretched rim, feeling residual lube cooler on Kurt's skin.

"C'mere," Kurt says, voice a little deeper than it was before. He lowers his legs with a wince, stretching as Blaine crawls up to the headboard, stretching out on his back against the pillows once Kurt moves out of the way.

Kurt swings a leg over Blaine's torso, looking almost a little unsure of himself as he settles down on Blaine's chest, cock only inches away from Blaine's face. He looks down when Blaine looks up; Blaine gives him a smile that borders on smirk, resting his hands on Kurt's waist, eyes flickering down to his cock before back up again.

"You know I love your body," Blaine purrs, running his hands up and down Kurt's sides, ending at the curve of his hips where's he's straddling Blaine's chest. And like that, Kurt's comfortable again, sure of himself and his ability to charm and wile Blaine like this.

Kurt stretches his arms above his head, returning Blaine's smirk. "I know," he says, lowers his arms and runs his hands down his chest. Blaine's eyes follow the movement, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes dilate as Kurt wraps his hand around his cock, thumbing over the head once. Anticipation burns low in Blaine's stomach, curling and twisting and quickening his pulse. Saliva gathers in his mouth and he wets his lips again unconsciously.

Kurt scoots forward and Blaine gets the hint: he raises his head up, tilting slightly toward the ceiling as Kurt slips a folded-up pillow behind his head. He says, "You're so fucking gorgeous," before Kurt's rubbing his cock on Blaine's lips, smearing the pre-come, pushing his hips forward a little to slide the length of his cock up along Blaine's chin, his lips, his nose. Blaine's tongue licks up the vein, curling slightly around the shaft as he pants and feels so dirty but so _amazing_ at the same time.

"You're so desperate for it, aren't you?" Kurt drawls. Blaine whines in the affirmative, opening his mouth wider, inviting, allowing, but Kurt doesn't move. He keeps his cock an inch or two above Blaine's face as he thinks.

"Please." Blaine isn't above begging, they've found out, and hearing him so needy never fails to spark something in Kurt. He grasps the base of his cock and bites back a groan.

"You want me?" he asks. A formality, because they both know the answer: Blaine craves him, needs him.

"Yes," Blaine says, his voice just short of breathy.

"Do you want me to cockslap you?"

Blaine's next inhale catches in his throat and he tilts his head back further, his whole body jerking like Kurt's fingered him and found his prostate. "Yes, yes, yes," he repeats, repeats, like he's unable to say more, like words get caught and won't come. "I need it. I need it, please. I deserve it."

Exactly what he deserves, even he doesn't know, but he does know that phrases like this give Kurt the control he craves but never mentions. Blaine knows from the look in Kurt's eyes, the slack-jawed stare when Kurt comes down his throat or on his face, and it hasn't happened that often, but it's been enough. It's a stare of accomplishment, astonishment that he's done this to someone and someone's responded like _that_.

If Kurt wants it, Blaine will never hesitate to give it.

Kurt tilts Blaine's head back down and they look at each other for a few noiseless seconds, the anticipation in the calm before the storm. Then, with a careful flick of the wrist, Kurt brings the head of his cock down on Blaine's cheek. The sound of skin-on-skin is soft, barely audible, but they both gasp and jerk nevertheless. It's smooth and hot and damp on Blaine's skin and is gone too soon.

"Fuck," Blaine says and he only ever swears like this when the endorphins are kicked high. "Oh, fuck, Kurt."

"Yeah," Kurt concedes, tilting Blaine's head the other way and performing the same action, matching clear smears of pre-come streaking across Blaine's cheeks like a comet's tail.

Blaine's mouth is still open, his lips a little drier now, and Kurt can't resist bringing his cock down on those perfect pink lips, that perfectly-shaped mouth. Blaine groans from deep in his chest, so deep that he's sure that Kurt can feel it vibrating up through his body, shaking his capillaries and the very marrow of his bones.

Blaine slides his hands from Kurt's hips, going back, back, curling around his cheeks, fingers slipping into the divide, pulling and spreading him open. Kurt's gasping, driving his hips forward, cock sliding up Blaine's cheek. "Let me suck you," Blaine says, begs and demands and pleads. His skin shines with sweat already. "Fuck my mouth."

When Blaine doesn't move his hands Kurt holds his cock steady until Blaine can lift up and wrap his lips around the head, tonguing the slit and hollowing his cheeks as much as he can. Kurt pushes forward, just slightly, and Blaine instantly relaxes, jaw dropping a little more as he waits.

"God, Blaine," Kurt groans, thrusting forward until the head of his cock hits the back of Blaine's throat, slides further down until Blaine swallows, throat constricting until his nose is pressed to Kurt's pubic hair. He draws out carefully, his cock leaving Blaine's throat with a wet noise, and then thrusts back in.

He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of this, of looking down and seeing Blaine's lips stretched around his cock, of him blinking up through thick, dark eyelashes, hollowing his cheeks until his face looks sunken. Kurt grasps the back of Blaine's head, curls thick and soft in his fists, and holds him still as he drives his hips forward.

Blaine's fingers tighten on Kurt's ass, slipping lower until he's teasing Kurt's hole with the dry pad of his index finger, feeling where he's still wet and stretched out. Kurt stutters a gasp in response and tugs roughly on Blaine's hair. It draws a low moan that vibrates up Kurt's dick and through his body.

"The things I want to do to you," Kurt says. "Jesus Christ, Blaine. You just need to be fucked rough and harsh, don't you? You need me to fuck your tight little hole until you're loose and sobbing."

Blaine makes a noise that could be agreement, could be a quick _no_, but Kurt knows it's never no. It's always _yes, please, please, Kurt_.

Blaine's hips twitch, thrusting minutely into the air as he imagines Kurt pushing him down onto the bed, hand flat on his back, ass high in the air as Kurt thrusts into him relentlessly, until he_ is_ sobbing for him to stop, but they both know how much Blaine doesn't want it to stop. Kurt thrusts a little harder, a little deeper, and Blaine knows he's watching the slick, filthy slide of his cock between Blaine's lips, the way Blaine's throat accommodates to Kurt's cock as he moves in.

And, admittedly, they aren't that great at the whole "dirty talking" thing, but it's _nice _and _hot_ and Blaine honestly never thought that he'd get off on words so much. There's something about the low, rough growl of Kurt's usually level and usually clear voice, how he says words in private that Blaine never even thought that he _knew_. If Blaine wants to be honest, any kind of sex he'd ever imagined them having had been completely vanilla and full of "I love you" and gentle noises. He'd never actually imagined anything like this before.

Blaine wants to look behind Kurt so badly, to see himself in the mirror, mouth stretched full and eyes watering in the best way possible. He wants to watch Kurt shove his cock in again and again as he just _takes it_, unable to touch himself or rub off on the bed like he's dying to do.

He can hear the noises, the squelch of his lips and throat, his and Kurt's combined panting, Kurt's never-ending litany of filthy words as he grips even harder into Blaine's hair, the pain of the gel-sticky strands separating only serving to drag Blaine closer to the edge. He trails a finger down the divide of Kurt's cheeks, causing him to jerk and shudder, pressing forward involuntarily. Blaine locks eyes with Kurt as he slips a finger into Kurt's hole and that's all it takes: with a strangled shout Kurt comes hard down Blaine's throat, head tipped back as he stutters his hips forward, weaker this time, hands slackening on Blaine's hair.

Blaine coughs when Kurt slides out, taking a few deep breaths to compensate for the shortage of oxygen he'd been getting. He barely gets out "Kurt" in a hoarse, used voice before lips are pressed to his and a tongue is sliding into his mouth, licking at the inside of his cheeks and the backs of his teeth. The moan Kurt emits is soft, almost nonexistent, but Blaine feels it.

"Fuck," Kurt gasps when he breaks the kiss, pulling back to cup Blaine's face in his hands and just stare. He runs a thumb along Blaine's swollen bottom lip, wiping away a little gathered saliva. Blaine can still feel it on his chin and the underside of his jaw. "Your _voice_, oh my god. What will the Council say?"

Blaine laughs and god, even _that's_ raspy. "I'll just say I caught something," he says. "Better than telling them that my boyfriend's dick was down my throat while he fucked my face."

Kurt laughs and slides down Blaine's body, kissing along his chest as he goes, rubbing the broad of his palms along Blaine's nipples until they're tight and peaked and Blaine's arching his chest up into the painful pleasure with a low groan. He's still hard, cock throbbing insistently, and he very nearly comes just from the featherlight touch of Kurt's fingertips along the side.

"God, Kurt," he gasps, fingers clenching into the bedsheets as Kurt kisses up the length, paying close attention to the ejaculatory vein and the sensitive spot underneath the head. "I'm so close, please."

Kurt's tongue's a wet motion as it slides up, licking from Blaine's balls to the tip, tongue pointed as it swirls around the head and dips briefly into the slit. Before Blaine's hips can jerk up Kurt slings an arm across his pelvis and he wants to laugh: Kurt knows him almost as well as he does.

"Shit, _god_," Blaine gasps, tangling his fingers in Kurt's hair, holding him still as he sucks hard on the head of Blaine's cock. "Kurt, don't stop, gonna come…" It should be ridiculous that he's already this close, but staring down at the pale expanse of Kurt's exposed skin, at his bright blue eyes, hooded with want and need and love, it's laughably obvious _why_ he is.

Kurt hums and rubs his thumb along Blaine's balls and his orgasm is on him in an instant, overpowering and overwhelming as he jerks and bucks up as best as he can into Kurt's mouth, back arching and head thrashing on the pillow as Kurt swallows around him, licking up what he can't get. He slumps to the bed, loose-limbed and very nearly floating. He doesn't want to move ever again: sinking down and disappearing into the bed sounds like the better option right now.

"This wasn't exactly how I planned my Friday night to go," Blaine confesses, his arm covering his eyes as he catches his breath. He hears Kurt moving around, feels the bed dip and move as Kurt gets up. There's some shuffling in the corner of the room, the rustling of clothes, and when Kurt comes back he's rubbing a cold, damp fabric over Blaine's throat and chest, where the sweat and saliva is the worst.

"Let me guess," Kurt says as Blaine removes his arm and blinks at him, seeing that he's holding a wet wipe, "you were going to come back here and watch reality TV on the ridiculous television your parents bought for you." he drops the used wipe into Blaine's trashcan.

"Well, yes," Blaine concedes, sitting up. He sees that Kurt's put his boxers back him. "But I was gonna text you and ask if you wanted to watch stupid TV with me. And I had planned on cuddles and makeouts under a cashmere blanket. It was gonna be beautiful."

"Instead it was dirty," Kurt replies with a smirk that almost has Blaine whimpering for more. He reaches down behind him and grabs Blaine's briefs from the tangled mess that are his school clothes, holding them out. Blaine takes them gratefully, too lazy and sated to do more than stay exactly where he is and wriggle them on, which has Kurt rolling his eyes and trying not to smile.

Blaine pats the empty space on his bed next to him. "Come. Sit. Post-coital cuddles and all."

"We didn't even have sex," Kurt responds even as he crawls onto the bed to curl up next to Blaine. "So your sentence fragments are irrelevant."

"Shh," Blaine admonishes, reaching for the remote on his nightstand and flipping on the television. "Just let your IQ points drop. I think _Jersey Shore_ is on now."

"Blaine, no!"

"Nope," Blaine says. "My dorm room, my choices. Besides, I don't think you'll mind if we kiss through this, will you? Because if you do I'll gladly turn on _Grey's Anatomy_ or _America's Next Top Model_ so we can watch those."

"Just shut up," Kurt growls, hands already on Blaine's face and lips already working in a wet trail along his jaw. "After this I'll _make_ this a post-coital outing."

"But I really like this episode. Ronnie—" Blaine's teasing, eyes sparkling and mouth curved up at the side.

"Shut _up_, Blaine."

Blaine does.


End file.
